


Tiny metal prisons

by DrDevoraksApprentice



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Character Death, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, My version of events prior to story, Other, Red Plague (The Arcana), Spoilers for Book XIII: Death (The Arcana), it's dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrDevoraksApprentice/pseuds/DrDevoraksApprentice
Summary: You had known when you saw the first signs of colour tinging his sclera. In the beginning just a pallid pink, like a swirling drop of blood diluted in a cup of milk. Darkening hour by hour, day by day until it became a ghastly red, the colour of fresh death.





	Tiny metal prisons

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is dark and may contain triggers. Proceed at your own risk.

The first time you'd met him was at one of his lavish parties, filled with drink, dancing and debauchery. Asra hadn’t wanted to go, but your persistent curiosity won in the end and he had caved. You had thanked him with quick kisses that peppered his face, drawing an airy, breathless laugh from his lips. Your thanks continued down his body and his amethyst eyes had rolled back into his head and his breath had quickened and a whisper - _I just want to keep you safe._

The party had been everything you’d expected and more. People drank from water features filled with the most expensive wine, rich and red as blood. People danced, some semi-clothed, some not clothed at all, but all lost in the moment. It had been heady and intoxicating and your mind had spun at being a part of this strange and exciting new world.   
Asra’s protective hand would only leave yours once that night, and that’s when he had made his move.

Dressed in red and gold and jewels and furs he had captivated you. He had taken you by the arm and spoken all of his honeyed words and you were enraptured. Your eyes had searched for Asra but _don’t worry, we’ll find him later.  
_ He led and you followed, like a lamb to the slaughter. He asked if you wanted to see the finest collection of animals in Vesuvia and you had nodded your silent agreement because oh, how flattering! How utterly breathtaking that he, the Count, would speak to you, a humble magician.

The animals made you uncomfortable. Trapped and helpless inside their tiny metal prisons. 

He would notice the sudden uncertainty in your expression, his golden grip would tighten and he would shove you face first against the palace wall and take you, roughly, against the cold, unforgiving stone.  
It hurt, but you had almost wanted it, hadn’t you? Not quite, but almost. The thought made your heart ache endlessly.   
And as his primal grunts and growls faded into the background, the only thing you had heard was Asra’s beautiful voice calling your name.

He had warned Asra away after, promising him that he would kill you if he so much as looked at you again. You had both known he meant it, each word dripping from his lips like poison. He had begged and pleaded and tried to bargain but the Count was losing his patience. So Asra left. He had no choice. He did it for you.

You became his, then. Everyone knew that Nadia was a trophy wife, presented as an equal but really just another exotic animal in his collection. But you… you were his prized piece of ass, and he showed you off at every opportunity. He made sure that everyone knew it. He could, and did, lay with anyone he wanted, but it always came back to you. He might have even cared for you, in his own way. You were gifted a beautiful room at the palace… and ordered to live in it. You couldn’t help but think about those tiny metal prisons.

So the parties had continued. The drinking and the dancing and the fucking all blurring into a hedonistic whirlwind. Days melted into weeks, weeks into months. You were ever the star attraction, and he would flaunt you to the crowds, as if daring everyone to take a piece. Forbidden fruit, slightly bruised but still so sweet. And though he had wanted all eyes on the both of you, if anyone had dare touch what was his…  
The torturing was his favourite, the public executions a close second.

And oh, how he loved to take you in front of an audience!  
He would push you down onto the banquet table and tear away your shirt, revelling in the ripping sound mingled with your startled gasp of breath.He adored your vulnerability while you were under him like this, at his mercy. The power he held over you.  
He would drag the razor-sharp tip of his glorious, golden claw from your pulsing throat in a straight line, down the middle of your chest. If he’d have pressed harder, he could have opened you up, your flesh parting like soft butter under his touch, exposing your pounding and defenceless heart. And you’d have let him.

You came to care for him, over time. He had shown you moments of tenderness while you were alone, legs tangled together in silk sheets. He had always slept more soundly when you were next to him. He had rubbed your aching shoulders as you bathed together, sharing wine and languid touches as the water lapped against your flushed skin. He had showered you with gifts and trinkets, jewels of all colours. Anything you wanted except your freedom.

But something sinister had other ideas.

You had known when you saw the first signs of colour tinging his sclera. In the beginning just a pallid pink, like a swirling drop of blood diluted in a cup of milk. Darkening hour by hour, day by day until it became a ghastly red, the colour of fresh death. He grew weaker by the day, his already pale skin turning a sickening grey, a sheen of sweat covering his body. You began to pity him like those caged animals, once so powerful but now so pathetic.

That’s when you had met the good Doctor Devorak, called into the palace to find a cure. The whole city had started to succumb by then. Thinking your magic may be of use, you became an apprentice to him. You had spent hours rifling through books together in the library, weeks holed up down in the dank, dark dungeons where medical experiments became the norm. 

You only ever stopped your tireless work when he summoned you to his bed chambers. The smell of death hung in that room as it did in the dungeons below. His voice rasped and broke and coughs punctuated his words as he begged and you would service him, either through some kind of misplaced loyalty or out of sheer pity.

You found yourself growing closer to the doctor. His strong body a stark contrast to the sickly, shaking mess Lucio had become. Innocent touches to an arm became lingering caresses. Words exchanged that were once solely scientific became whispered declarations of your beauty and his need and _Oh please, darling please…_  
And please each other you would.  
You had become a welcome nightly distraction to each other, rapturous time away from death and decay. Secret heated liaisons in single, cramped cots. Writhing and moaning and pleading the world away.

Time passed quickly, then.

Asra had returned to the palace when he learned of how weak Lucio grew. His moment to take you away, to wrap you in his arms and run to the ends of the earth had finally arrived.  
But by then you had noticed the ache in your head, the heaviness in your body.

You told him no.  
_I have to stay and help._

You fought.  
_No, YOU don’t understand._

He wasn’t leaving without you again.   
_You’re too late._

He would cry tears of desperation and despair and thump his fists into your chest like a petulant child but you sent him away. You had no choice. You did it for him.

And so your sclera had turned from white, to pink, to that grisly red and your body quickly began to fail you. A constant nausea sat in the pit of your stomach like a lead weight. Shivers ran through you as your skin burned with fever.  
Lucio didn’t summon you anymore. You were a reminder of what he once was, what he once _had._ What he had become.

The doctor had come to be your only companion, and although he cared for you deeply he was close to a discovery, he was sure of it. Besides, you hid behind your mask and you muffled your coughs and you fucked with torches unlit. The eyes only see what the mind is prepared to comprehend, after all.

By the time he had noticed your affliction, you’d already observed the telltale tinge of colour in Julian’s right eye. That was your fault, wasn’t it? You laid with Lucio, you danced with the doctor. You fool, you had surely known the risk. Now you were all dying.

The whole city was dying.

The next day they had found you crumpled in a heap in your tiny metal prison. Breath so shallow, and _god_ it had hurt to breathe. A key was pushed into the lock, the screeching grind as it turned seared into your brain. Your nerves were on fire. Gloved hands grabbed at you. Hauled you off the ground. Masked figures loomed above you like death itself.

You were too far gone.  
_I’m sorry doctor, they’re too far gone._

There was nothing that could be done.  
_There must be -something- I can do, please…_

There was only one place for you now.  
_No, we have to take them, now._

Oh god, no.  
_Oh god please, no… not-_

The Lazaret.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I warned you it was dark! I'm so glad to finally get this down though, it's been PLAGUING me for days. Sorry, too soon..?
> 
> If the pacing seems a little unusual, it's because I wrote it to be read aloud and I wanted to create a sense of speed and urgency at points. Anyway, I'm sorry if there's mistakes or if the tenses sometimes feel off. I don't have anyone to beta read for me and I've stared and tweaked for hours and my eyes are burning.


End file.
